He couldn’t process what she was saying through the fog of hunger. His entire being was centered on her throat. Her skin.
“Marcus?” Her pink lips formed his name, and he blinked.
Somehow he’d crept across the bed until he was inches from her mouth. Closing his eyes, he let her breath caress his face. Her skin was warm, pulse thudding beneath his fingers. When had he gripped her throat?
With a jerk, he threw himself backward, knocking into the wall so hard the picture frames on her bureau fell over.
“Are you okay, Marcus?” Briar shoved the plate onto the bed and stood.
“No,” he croaked. He covered his mouth, hiding his fangs. He had to taste her. There would be nothing as delicious as her blood, and he was so hungry.
The vampire hissed. Famished.
No. He was stronger than the vampire. Worry had brought him to her home, and the last thing he intended was to hurt her. But now, faced with her and the bouquet of her scent, all he could think about was blood.
His teeth would slice into her skin, and her blood would drip down her throat, staining the t-shirt she wore. She’d sink back into the bed as he hovered over her, tongue licking the droplets from her shoulder to the puncture wounds he’d make. In his mind, he could see himself, and his dick jumped.
Pushing past her, he threw open her door.
“Marcus!” she called, but he ignored her.
Never had he come so close to feeding.
Blood.
The vampire clawed inside him, wanting out, but he shoved him back down. “No.”
Emerging onto the dark street, Marcus sucked in a breath and tasted rot. In a split second, he’d changed from rational man to a creature ruled by his desires. He desired blood, and if he couldn’t have Briar’s, he would hunt.
Marcus let the vampire have his skin. He’d let the only thing that mattered sate his hunger.
Chapter 12
Briar
Briar’s heart thudded against her chest. Marcus had frightened and confused her. The way he stared at her, watching her speak, eyes dropping to her throat, she couldn’t tell if he wanted to murder her or kiss her.
He’d left as if something was chasing him, and she couldn’t help feeling as if he’d done it for her. But that was crazy.
Appetite gone, Briar picked up her plate, wrapped her pizza and shoved it in the small refrigerator that stood waist high. She dismissed the idea that Marcus wanted to kiss her, but she couldn’t deny there was something… hungry about the way he’d watched her. She’d had his complete focus, and it had made her heart pound.
She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
Needing a distraction, she grabbed the bag of books she’d bought at the bookstore and flopped on her bed. She pulled out the art history book and began to flip through the glossy pages. Tomorrow was her first day of classes, and she would be stopping by Professor Nors’s office to pick up the book he’d promised her.
Her stomach fluttered thinking about him. What was wrong with her? She wanted Marcus to kiss her, thought Professor Nors was handsome—Hotson Nors—and had breakfast with Valen this morning.
Shaking her head, she instead focused on the page in front of her. A Portrait of Miss Elizabeth Linley. Briar propped her chin in her hand, staring at the beautiful woman. Dark eyes in a pale white face, stared away from the artist, exposing her white throat.
For the rest of the evening, Briar looked through her book, examining each picture, pausing on those that she found especially interesting. The last thing she remembered was staring at View of the Landscape near the Catskills and reading a short passage about the Hudson River painters when her eyes shot open.
Pain radiated along her hand, and she blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what she saw. Blue sky and sunshine poured through her windows.
Acting instinctively, she rolled, hitting the floor with a teeth-rattling thump and crawled beneath her bed. Had she forgotten to draw the curtains?
No. The curtains always stayed drawn, and while she might pull them to the side to see the weather, they remained shut, protecting her from the sun. Edging toward the bedskirt, she examined the floor and gasped. The blackout curtains had been torn from the rods, piled into a messy heap.
Her heart pounded, and she crawled toward the other side of the bed, peeking beneath the bedskirt and avoiding the sunlight hitting the end of the bed. Her door was wide open.
Bile burned her throat. Who would have broken into her house and torn her curtains off? For that matter, who knew she had EPP? Any longer in the sun and she would have burned.
Drawing her arm toward her face, she examined the skin. It was a little red, but it was nowhere near as bad as it could have been.
Her entire apartment was flooded with light, and while she could avoid the sun here for a little while, eventually there would be nowhere to hide.
She was going to have to crawl from under the bed, wrap herself in a blanket, and escape into the bathroom. Her clothes were in there, all laid out for her first day of school.
Eyes filling with tears, Briar pressed her face against the cool wood floor.
This was going to hurt.
Blasting from beneath the bed, she grabbed the first thing she saw, the curtain, and wrapped it over her head. It covered her, but not fast enough. It was like being blasted by a water cannon. The pain was instantaneous. All she could do was muscle through and dive into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.
Sobbing now, she turned on the shower, stripped, and got inside. The cool water dissipated the heat, but beneath the surface, her nerve endings flared.
It happened sometimes. Her body responded to exposure as if the burn was much worse than it was. The doctor told her it was her body’s way of surviving. By lying to her, making her believe the burn was worse, it could guarantee that next time she’d remember and not burn herself again.
As if she needed a reminder. Briar huddled beneath the stream, shoulders shaking as she tried to calm her breathing. “I’m okay.” Her voice bounced off the tiles. “I’m okay.”
Someone tried to kill me.
“I’m okay.” Her voice broke, and she let the tears overwhelm her. Who would do this? Who had she made so angry they’d break into her apartment to hurt her?
Inexplicably, her thoughts went to Sylvain and the way he looked at her with distaste one moment and amusement the next. But no. Sylvain knew nothing about her, except she snuck around museums after hours.
Once she let the tears flow, she couldn’t stop them. All of her dreams seemed to crash around her. What had she been thinking, wanting a normal life?
There would be no school for her, no books and research. No time with Marcus or breakfast with random friends of friends like Valen. Those things weren’t for people like her.
With an immense effort, Briar shut the water off. The towel she patted her skin with may have well been sandpaper. It grated against her skin, and she sobbed harder. Dressed now, she covered herself with the curtain. Her hand shook as she grasped the knob, but she yanked it open anyway.
She rushed to the bed, grabbed her cell phone and ran back into the bathroom, slamming the door. Dialing 911 was like the death knell to her hopes. Her parents would hear about this, and they’d be on the next plane to Boston. Or worse, they’d send her brother, Jamie, after her.
Jamie would have a field day with the “I told you so’s.”
“911, what is your emergency?”
Briar explained what happened as calmly as she could, but soon she was crying again, hiccuping and choking.
“Ma’am, calm down. I have first responders on their way to you. Can you let them into your apartment?”
“The building door is locked,” she explained. “But I can do it.”
It would mean another foray into the daylight, which, unlike yesterday when she was full of excitement, was her enemy today. Nearby, sirens blared, prompting her to move. The curtain went around her head again, and she hurried dow
nstairs, throwing the locks on the door in time to see the first fire engines and ambulances pull to a stop.
“Come with us, miss,” the paramedic directed, and she shook her head.
“I can’t. I’ll burn.”
The man exchanged a glance with the other paramedic. “Miss. You won’t burn. You’re covered. We’re going to take you to the hospital and the police will make sure your apartment is safe.”
“You don’t understand.” Had she not explained this to the dispatcher? “If I go into the sun, I’ll burn.”
With her words, something in their demeanor changed. “We understand.” His tone was polite, but the way they walked toward her, hands out, put her on guard, and she stepped back, onto the stairs. “Are you burning now?”
“I’m all right as long as I stay out of the sun,” she replied, and there was the look again.
In a split second, she understood what happened. She had explained her situation to the dispatcher, and they thought she was crazy. “You don’t understand,” she tried again. “I have a condition. Erythropoietic protoporphyria. It means I burn when I come into contact with UV light. I’m not crazy.”
Her last words were her undoing. Someone grabbed her from behind, and the curtain fell off her, leaving her face and head fully exposed. Screaming, she kicked and jerked. She turned her head as far from the sunlight as she could, but it caught her, burning her ear. “Let me go!” she screamed, her voice breaking. “Please!”
“Hey!” a deep voice yelled, and then. “Hey!”
Something was thrown over her head, and then, just as she collapsed, two strong arms wrapped around her.
“Sir, back up.”
“Don’t touch her, you fucking idiot. She’s allergic to sunlight. You could have killed her.” Sylvain.
“Sylvain,” she choked from beneath whatever covered her. She gripped him, digging her fingers into his arm. “Please don’t let me go.”
“Sir, she’s—”
She spun, and the covering was gently removed from her head. “Look, fucker.”
He’d led them into a dark corner of the stairwell, away from the light. Sylvain stood at her back, holding her up while a police officer, Taser drawn, and the two paramedics stared at her in horror.
“Shiiiiit,” the paramedic said. “Sir, you have to let us help her.”
“I’m not crazy,” she stuttered over the words, holding even tighter to Sylvain. “I don’t want to burn, Sylvain. Please.”
“You won’t burn, Briar. I’ve got you.”
Her ear throbbed in time with her heartbeat. Oh God, how bad was it?
“Miss,” the first paramedic said. “You have a pretty bad burn, and we need to treat you. Please. We’ll do whatever you need to get you from here to the bus and to the hospital. What was that thing called?” His eyes flickered to Sylvain.
“Erythropoietic protoporphyria.” He didn’t even trip over the word.
“EPP,” Briar whispered.
The throbbing was overwhelming her, and her body was starting to shut down. She could feel it, a bone-deep fatigue that had her vision tunneling and darkness hovering around the edges.
“Stay with me,” Sylvain whispered. “Talk to me. What are you doing today?”
Her eyes fluttered closed, and she let herself lean against him. “I was supposed to have class. It’s my first day of school.”
“What class?” he asked. His voice was soothing when he wasn’t barking at her.
“Regenerative DNA Technology and Molecular Biology. And Professor Nors has a book for me. But it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Why doesn’t it matter?” He shook her, and she opened her eyes. “Briar, stay with me. Why doesn’t it matter?”
“I’m not normal. Why’d I think I could do this? I don’t belong here.”
“You’re giving up?” His chest rumbled as if he was growling. “Didn’t think you were a quitter.”
“Someone ripped the blackout curtains from my windows, Sylvain.” Why was he being so mean? “Some jerk must have thought it was funny to mess with the freak.”
“So you’re going to have a pity party? Get new curtains.”
“Sir, we’re ready.”
“No!” Her eyes had closed again, but now she forced them open and spun, gripping Sylvain’s shirt in both her hands. “No. Sylvain. They think I’m crazy. Please don’t let them take me.” Even as the words left her lips, she knew she was being illogical and paranoid.
“I’ll go with you,” he replied and dropped a kiss on her forehead. His lips were cool, and she allowed herself to rest there, pressing herself a little harder against him.
“You won’t leave me alone?”
“No.” It was a promise.
“Okay.”
“Miss. Briar. We’re going to put these blankets over your head. Can you get on the gurney?”
The paramedics had wheeled the gurney to the door, but it still sat in the sunlight. “I can’t.”
“Here.” Sylvain held out a hand for the blankets and the paramedic tossed them to him. “I’m going to put them around you and lift you, okay?”
She nodded and sucked in a breath. Sylvain shook out the blankets, dark eyes following his movements as he settled it over her head. He held out another hand and caught the next. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
He gave her a small smile, just a tilt of his lips, and covered her face and head. The next thing she knew, he’d scooped her beneath her knees, settling her against his chest and lifted her. “I have her,” he said.
Around her, the paramedics directed him to the ambulance, where he placed her carefully on a gurney already inside. They strapped her in place, but Sylvain took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers as the paramedics shut the doors.
“Four minutes,” someone said. “How you doing, Briar?”
Sylvain squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. “Okay,” she answered. She hadn’t passed out, and Sylvain hadn’t left. She could do this.
“You with me?” Sylvain asked.
“I’m with you,” she answered.
Chapter 13
Sylvain
Sylvain thanked whatever instinct it was that brought him to Briar’s door. Long ago, he’d given up ignoring his urges. When he was hungry, he ate. When he was angry, he fought.
And when he wanted to lay eyes on the girl who’d filled his thoughts, he found her.
Her covered form shivered beneath the blankets on the gurney. Her hand, small, warm, held his with a grip tight enough to bruise had he been human.
“Sylvain?”
“I’m here, blossom. Holding your hand.”
He shook his head. No endearments. She was a distraction, a novelty, nothing more. But even as he had the thought, he knew he was lying to himself.
Every so often, her body would jerk, and he imagined her eyes closing, her body trying to force her to sleep. He’d asked her to stay with him, and she had, fighting her exhaustion.
“We have a bay ready, and our doctors are prepared,” the paramedic informed them.
Growling, Sylvain stared daggers at the man. It was their fault she was injured at all. He’d seen the moments before they dragged her into the sunlight. Her skin was flushed, but not burned, but the instant the sun had touched her skin, it swelled and blistered.
He would never forget it. Flames flashed in front of his eyes, and he shut them tight. No. This wasn’t like Annie. Briar was human, and she would heal.
“Did you see it, Sylvain?” she asked. “How bad is it?”
It had been bad, but for some reason, his bluntness left him, and though he tried, he couldn’t find the right words.
She sighed. “Must be pretty bad if you have nothing sarcastic to say.”
“There are good doctors here, Briar. They’ll help you.” It fell flat even to his ears.
The doors opened with a crash, and Briar jerked. “You’ll stay?”
Would he? Sylvain hadn’t been inside a human hospital in
years, hadn’t allowed himself the temptation. A place full of weakened prey was too alluring.
“Please?”
Could he do this? Worst thing that happens is you murder everyone.
“Yes. I will.” He’d tamp down the desire to feed, and focus on the girl holding onto his hand like a lifeline.
The gurney was lifted, but still he held on, contorting his massive form to fit through the door. Beneath the blanket, Briar shook. The humans pushing the bed rushed her into the hospital, through the emergency room to a bay with no windows.
“Sir, we need you to wait outside.” At six and a half feet, Sylvain took up a lot of space, but Briar held onto him.
“I want him to stay,” she replied as the blankets were removed.
Oh, Briar. Sylvain clenched the fist of his free hand, struggling not to murder the paramedics. He couldn’t take his eyes off the damage done to her body. When dragged into the daylight, she’d twisted away from the sun. From her earlobe down to the middle of her neck had been struck by the brunt of the rays.
One patch of skin, the length of his finger, was melted, exposing, in one spot, muscle. He stared at the damage, hissing through his teeth. Later. He would find out where these men lived, and he’d devour them. He’d rip their heads from their body. No. He’d build a fire and hold them over it and then rip their heads from their body.
Sylvain shut his eyes, trying to get ahold of himself, and when he opened them, he met Briar’s sad gaze. The doctors bent over her, lights shining on the wound while the nurses prepared something in the corner. A tear streaked down her face, catching on her lips before rolling over her chin. “Almost made it.”
“I don’t understand,” he rasped, bending at the waist.
“I thought I’d gotten the worst of the burns behind me, and I hadn’t melted off my face. Should have knocked on wood or something.”
He stroked her head without thinking. “It’s on your neck.” His gaze flicked to the doctors as they inserted a needle near the wound, numbing it he guessed. “It’s far back, near your ear. Your hair will cover it.”
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